Cleo’s POV
It was a deceptively sunny Saturday – the kind of rare British weather that lured you into a false sense of security, promising warmth but delivering a biting breeze the moment a cloud crossed the sun. The ancient oak trees lining the high street swayed, their leaves rustling, and above the hum of traffic, I could hear the birds singing.
I, however, was not feeling sweet.
I shifted, shuffling in the uncomfortable plastic chair outside Java Lounge. The woven pattern was leaving waffle-like imprints on my thighs – a punishment for wearing a dress. I stretched my neck, peering down the pavement for the fourth time in minutes.
Nothing. Not a sign of him.
I glanced at my wrist, the sunlight catching my watch. 12:15 PM. Kyle was supposed to be here at noon. I let out a frustrated
